Sevenfold Sword_Warlord

by Jonathan Moeller

  “Why does Lady Kalussa not try?” said Aegeus.

  “Because, Sir Aegeus,” said Kalussa, gazing into the trees. “I have my own lessons with the Keeper.”

  The blue crystal atop the staff of dark metal in her right hand seemed to shiver, changing shape just slightly.

  “Find me again at this time tomorrow,” said Calliande. “We’ll keep practicing. The scouts think we won’t encounter Justin’s army until we’re beyond the hill country so there will be time to practice the spell yet.”

  “Of course, my lady,” said Jolcus. He seemed relieved to be done, but he nonetheless offered a polite bow, turned, and walked to his trisalians. The great lizards turned at his approach, and Jolcus started checking them for injuries or illness.

  The trisalians obeyed him, Calliande noted, with greater celerity than they would have before.

  “I hope this is worth the effort,” said Tamlin, wiping some sweat from his forehead. It was a hot day, but it was always hot in Owyllain.

  “I suspect it will be,” said Calliande. “King Hektor thinks his forces are almost evenly matched with those of King Justin and his allies. Any advantage might decide the battle.”

  “King Hektor has the Shield Knight and the Keeper,” said Kalussa, still staring into the trees.

  “Aye,” said Calliande, “but my husband and I are but one man and one woman. King Justin also has the Dark Arcanii and the warlocks of Vhalorast at his side. No, even the slightest advantage could be decisive. And if I can train enough Arcanii to command a hundred trisalians to charge the enemy at the right moment…that could decide the battle.”

  They were polite, but she could tell they didn’t believe her, at least not yet. Tamlin and Kalussa had spent their lives fighting on foot, had not grasped the potential of a charge of cavalry because none of them had seen a horse. For that matter, Calliande had seen two wars on a titanic scale, and she knew far more about the science and art of warfare than she had ever wished.

  But the trisalians were larger and more dangerous than horses, and had far greater potential as a weapon of war. The Arcanii had used them in battle from time to time, but not in any systematic way. What would twelve trisalians do against a formation of Justin Cyros’s hoplites?

  What would a hundred do?

  “Ah.” Aegeus shook his head. “Charging into battle atop an animal. It does not seem…knightly. Driving animals is the task of servants, not noble-born warriors.”

  Calliande laughed.

  “My lady?” said Aegeus.

  “It is strange,” said Calliande. “In Andomhaim, knights take great pride in their horses and prefer to fight while mounted. To fight from horseback is considered knightly, and commoners fight on foot.”

  And Swordbearers, too, but there was no reason to complicate the discussion further.

  “Well,” said Tamlin, “Justin Cyros is a murderer and a traitor, and if anything has the potential to discomfort him, I am in favor of it.”

  Tamlin and Aegeus fell into their customary good-natured bickering. Kalussa walked in silence next to Calliande, the end of the Staff of Blades rasping against the ground with every stride. The blue crystal at the end of the Staff kept changing shape. Kalussa was brooding upon something again. The Maledictus Khurazalin had wielded the Staff with masterful skill, unleashing storms of crystalline blades to slaughter his enemies. But Khurazalin had been a master wizard and a warlock of tremendous power, and Kalussa simply didn’t have that mental discipline yet.

  Though given the horrors they had seen at King Hektor’s ill-fated banquet, little wonder Kalussa was brooding.

  Thinking of the battle at the Palace of the High Kings sent Calliande’s thoughts back to Aenesium, and a spasm of emotion went through her. She took a deep breath, clearing her mind, and drew upon the Sight. Calliande sent the Sight hurtling towards the south, seeking for her own flesh and blood.

  The Sight found her sons at once.

  No matter the distance between them, the Sight could find Gareth and Joachim anywhere. It also gave her a general impression of their current state. They were both healthy and unharmed, though Calliande thought they were both tired. Likely Michael and Father Clement had been keeping them busy.

  Work was the best cure for sorrow…and separation was its own kind of sorrow.

  Her sons waited in Aenesium while she and Ridmark went to war, and it weighed heavy upon Calliande’s heart. Calliande supposed she had no cause for complaint. Michael and Father Clement were good men, and Ridmark had also hired Michael’s sister Anne to look after the boys. Men had left their families for generations beyond count to go to war, and they hadn’t possessed the luxury of the Sight to check upon their children from a distance. For that matter, in the thousand years of Andomhaim’s history, several of the Keepers had borne children, and they too had been forced to leave their children in the care of others while fulfilling the duties of their office.

  Yet it still tore at Calliande, guilt gnawing at her.

  “There is only one thing to do,” said Ridmark in her memory. “The sooner we defeat Justin Cyros, the sooner we can return to Aenesium.”

  Calliande smiled to herself. After eight years of marriage, when she needed to talk herself into doing something difficult, her mind sometimes spoke in the voice of Ridmark Arban.

  But her husband was a man who understood determination.

  “My lady?” said Kalussa.

  Calliande blinked and looked at Kalussa. Her emotions started to darken. Ridmark’s determination had let him resist Kalussa’s attempt to seduce him…

  No. She would not dwell on that. It was done. And if Kalussa had not gotten the Staff of Blades away from Khurazalin, the Maledictus might have killed them all. Kalussa had saved their lives, and she had paid a sharp price for that.

  If she did not learn to master the Staff of Blades, the magical weapon would kill her.

  “When we stop to camp for the night,” said Calliande, “we should spend some more time practicing your spells. Specifically, the spell for throwing a sphere of elemental fire. The tighter you can make the spell, the better your control will be…and you will find it easier to control the Staff of Blades…”

  Kalussa nodded. “Khurazalin made it look so easy.”

  “Khurazalin was an undead warlock of great power,” said Calliande. “He would have defeated any of the Arcanii, and even I would have a hard time fighting him.”

  “If it makes you feel better,” said Aegeus, “you’re going to make my life easier, Lady Kalussa.”

  Kalussa blinked. “What?”

  Aegeus grinned. “Since the Keeper will have you throwing fireballs about, you can light my campfire for me. And cook my dinner, come to think of it. No sense wasting all that practice.”

  Kalussa sniffed. “I am a daughter of royal blood, Sir Aegeus, not your chamber maid. While I’m at it, shall I clean your boots?”

  “If you’re offering,” said Aegeus, and Tamlin laughed.

  Kalussa started to draw herself up, then sighed and laughed a little. “You are an offensive man, Sir Aegeus.”

  “I’m just honest,” said Aegeus. “It means…”

  He fell silent and turned his head, and Calliande saw a man jogging towards them.

  Or, rather, a gray elf.

  Kyralion had the pointed, upswept ears and the sharp, alien features common to all the elven kindreds. His eyes were a strange shade of gold, and he looked a little weather-beaten, as if he had spent years traveling through harsh terrain. He wore leather armor adorned with bronze rivets, trousers, and dusty boots. A long bow had been slung over his shoulder, and a sword waited at his belt. Calliande’s Sight saw magical auras around both weapons, spells of elemental magic. A gray cloak similar to Ridmark’s hung from his shoulders. The elves of the Illicaeryn Jungle called themselves the Liberated, but because of the cloaks, the men of Owyllain called them the gray elves.

  He stopped a few paces away and performed his awkward, mechanical bow. In battle, Kyra
lion was deadly, wielding his sword with fluid grace and shooting his bow with inhuman precision. In conversation, he seemed cautious and unsure of himself, wary of giving offense.

  “My lady Keeper,” said Kyralion. His voice was soft and musical, with a faint rasp to it. He spoke Latin with a strange accent, sometimes placing emphasis on the wrong syllable. “Sir Tamlin, Sir Aegeus, Sir Kalussa.”

  Kalussa smiled. “Lady Kalussa.”

  Kyralion still had trouble with the different titles.

  “Yes. Lady Kalussa. I apologize,” said Kyralion.

  “You’re back early,” said Calliande. Kyralion was a superb scout, and he spent his days ranging through the redwood forest. King Justin had sent warbands of Vhalorasti orcs south to harass King Hektor’s army, and Kyralion helped find them.

  “I am,” said Kyralion. “I received word from one of the other scouts and thought I should speak with you at once. The Shield Knight has returned early from his patrol.”

  Calliande kept the flicker of fear from her expression. “Is Ridmark all right?” It seemed unlikely that any Vhalorasti warrior could overcome a Swordbearer, but random chance ruled war as much as strength and skill and courage.

  “Yes,” said Kyralion. “But it seems he found a strange woman on his patrol.”

  Calliande frowned. “A strange woman?”

  Kyralion shrugged. “I do not know the details, only what I have heard. Some of the scouts said that the Shield Knight found a dark elven woman in the forest.”

  “A dark elven woman?” said Kalussa, her grim manner vanishing beneath bafflement. “The only dark elven women in Owyllain would be in Urd Maelwyn, not here.” She looked at Calliande. “Could the Confessor be attacking?”

  “Perhaps,” said Calliande, reaching for the dagger at her belt. King Justin and King Hektor were preparing to meet in battle. So far, the Confessor, the former lieutenant of the Sovereign who now ruled Urd Maelwyn, had hung back from the fight. Calliande assumed that the Confessor intended to fall upon the weakened victor.

  But what if the Confessor had decided to take a more direct hand?

  Calliande grasped the handle of the dagger at her belt and cast a spell. Ridmark had given her the dagger long ago, and she had used it to save her life. That created a link she could use to find him, and the spell sought him out. He was close and unharmed – perhaps a half-mile further to the north.

  “This way,” she said. “Let’s find out for ourselves.”

  Calliande strode past the lines of scutian-pulled wagons, the others following her. She swung the worn staff of the Keeper in her right hand as she walked, her green cloak hanging behind her. One advantage of travel was that at least the clothes were comfortable. She wore good boots, trousers, and a loose red tunic, a belt wound around her waist. It was far more comfortable than the reunion dress that she had worn the night of the disastrous banquet.

  Of course, the entire point of the reunion dress was that Ridmark would get her out of it as soon as possible.

  She smiled at the memory.

  They passed the column of wagons that made up the rear of King Hektor’s host, the drivers nodding to her and the others as she passed. Calliande was a little surprised at how quickly the account of Castra Chaeldon and the battle at the banquet had spread through the army. Still, given how long the realm of Owyllain had been locked in the bloody stalemate of the War of the Seven Swords, perhaps any hope was welcome.

  “There’s Lord Ridmark,” said Tamlin, pointing.

  Calliande spotted her husband and smiled.

  He did not look that much different than the day he had rescued her from pagan orcs ten years ago. Ridmark had the same close-cropped black hair, the same cold blue eyes, the same brand of a broken sword on his left cheek. Of course, time left no one untouched. There was gray at his temples now, and if he ever grew a beard, it would be more gray than black. The lines of his face had sunk deeper into his skin, making him look harsher. Ridmark looked exactly like the man he was – the Shield Knight of Andomhaim, but before that, the Dragon Knight who had rallied the nations to victory against the Frostborn, and the Gray Knight who had wandered the Wilderland for five years to find the secrets of the Frostborn.

  But he didn’t look harsh now. In fact, he was smiling. He didn’t smile all that often.

  A woman walked next to him, clad in close-fitting dark armor, twin swords at her belt, her hair like a black hood around her narrow, pale face.

  Then Calliande recognized the woman, and a jolt of delighted surprise went through her.

  Yes. It made sense. It made perfect sense.

  Antenora’s Sight would have revealed that Ridmark and Calliande were still alive, especially if she sought for them from the Chamber of the Sight in the Tower of the Keeper. And if anyone could have made the journey from Andomhaim to Owyllain and survived, it was the woman who walked next to Ridmark.

  “Third,” said Calliande.

  Tamlin blinked. “Third?”

  “Pardon, my lady,” said Kalussa. “But…third of what?”

  “No,” said Calliande, coming to a stop as Ridmark and Third approached. “That’s her name. Sir Tamlin, Sir Aegeus, Lady Kalussa, Kyralion of the Illicaeryn Jungle, I have the great honor to present Lady Third of Nightmane Forest, the sister of Queen Mara of the Anathgrimm and a very good friend.”

  Third smiled a little and inclined her head. Calliande would have hugged her, but she knew that Third hated to be touched.

  “Keeper,” said Third. “I am pleased to see that you are unharmed.” She paused. “And healthier than last we met.”

  “Yes,” said Calliande. The last time she had seen Third had been…four or five months ago. Calliande barely remembered it. She had been half out of her mind with grief for Joanna. Looking back on the dark time, it was almost as if it had happened to someone else, or if she had been someone else. “Since we’ve arrived in Owyllain…well, I’m afraid I either had to fight or die. And I wasn’t ready to die yet.”

  Not yet. Calliande’s sons needed her. Ridmark needed her. And, she feared, the people of Owyllain needed her. If she and Ridmark had not been at the Palace of the High Kings, Rypheus and Khurazalin would have wiped out the entire leadership of Aenesium. The Shield Knight and the Keeper had sworn to defend Andomhaim from dark magic…and Owyllain was under threat from dark magic.

  “I am glad of it,” said Third.

  “Lady Third is from Andomhaim, then?” said Tamlin.

  “That is correct, Sir Tamlin,” said Third. “The High King of Andomhaim and my sister Queen Mara asked me to learn what had become of the Shield Knight and the Keeper.”

  “Forgive me, my lady,” said Tamlin, “but…how can you possibly be here? There are at least three thousand miles of ocean between here and Tarlion.”

  “It is closer to thirty-five hundred,” said Third. “There is also a continent in the way.” Ridmark smiled a little at that.

  “Thirty-five hundred miles then,” said Tamlin. “The Keeper and the Shield Knight have only been here thirty-one days. Even if you set out at once, you would have had to traverse over a hundred miles a day.”

  “That is also correct,” said Third.

  “Well,” said Ridmark, “want to give them a demonstration?”

  “If it is necessary,” said Third, her voice impassive, but her lips twitched a little.

  “A demonstration of what?” said Tamlin.

  “This,” said Ridmark.

  Blue fire pulsed through Third’s veins and eyes, and she vanished. An instant later she reappeared in a swirl of blue flame at the foot of a redwood tree a hundred yards away. Tamlin’s hand fell towards his sword, and Kalussa flinched, the crystal at the end of the Staff of Blades changing shape again.

  “God and the saints!” said Aegeus. “How the hell did she do that?”

  Third reappeared before them, the blue fire fading away.

  “As you can imagine, Sir Tamlin,” said Third. “This made traveling a large distance swiftly fa
r easier.” She paused. “Though I did force the dvargir to allow me to use their underground canals.”

  “We should speak to King Hektor at once,” said Ridmark. “Third’s help will be invaluable against Justin Cyros.”

  Calliande hesitated. “You will help us against him? You won’t return to Andomhaim at once?”

  “No,” said Third. “The Shield Knight explained the situation during our walk here. I am willing to fight alongside you against the bearers of the Seven Swords. Additionally, I have the means for you to contact Antenora.”

  “You do?” said Calliande. “How?”

  Before she could answer, Kyralion stepped to her side, his golden eyes fixed on Third. Calliande blinked in surprise. Kyralion was usually so quiet that it was easy to forget that he was there.

  “Forgive my interruption,” said Kyralion. “But I must speak at once.”

  ###

  Tamlin didn’t know what to make of Third.

  Calliande and Ridmark obviously trusted her. Yet there was something uncanny about her, something strange. Some of it was the points of her elven ears. Some of it was how she made Tamlin’s instincts rise in alarm. She reminded him of some of the deadliest killers he had fought in the Ring of Blood in Urd Maelwyn.

  And then, of course, there was her mysterious power to travel a hundred yards in the blink of an eye.

  Kyralion stared at Third with…Tamlin could not comprehend the alien emotion on the gray elf’s face. Was it amazement? Horror? Fear? Hope? A combination of all four?

  “What is it, Kyralion?” said Calliande. She looked as surprised as Tamlin felt.

  “Lady Third,” said Kyralion. “You are of the elven kindred.”

  “That is correct,” said Third. She, at least, seemed unruffled by the attention. Tamlin doubted much got through her icy control. “My father was the Traveler, the dark elven lord who once ruled Nightmane Forest before my sister slew her.”

  “Wait,” said Kalussa. The misshapen crystal atop the Staff of Blades shifted. “I thought the hybrid of a human and a dark elf always turned into a monster – an urdhracos, or maybe an urshane.”